Three Minutes
by njborba
Summary: Emily's adventures in speed dating... and beyond.
1. Three Minutes

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

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><p><strong>Three Minutes<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

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><p>Ding<p>

Emily dove head first into the endeavor as she sat across from a tall, thin man in a navy suit. "My name is Emily. I work for the FBI as a behavioral analyst. A profiler," she clarified, figuring that term was more universal. "I chase down serial killers, rapist and kidnappers. I also carry a weapon with me most of the time. It's a Glock 19." She watched the look in his eyes go from blank to startled in a matter of seconds. "Just thought I'd get that all out up front. You know, because some guys have issues with women in law enforcement."

He swallowed nervously. "I'm Fred. I have two children, a beautiful nine year old girl and a shy seven year old boy. Unfortunately, their mother passed away two years ago. My faith has helped me get through each day since she passed," the man explained. "I'm looking for a woman to share my faith, to pray every night for abundant health and happiness, to worship each Sunday with me and my children at church. To denounce evil and evil ways. To proclaim that our faith is the most important relationship in our lives."

"Okay…" Emily wondered what part of her carrying a gun and chasing bad guys he didn't understand.

"So, have you found Jesus yet?" he asked.

"Has he been missing for more than seventy-two hours?" she asked, falling back on her reliable friend sarcasm. "Because I should let you know that chances of finding someone after that long," her head shook as she tisked. "Not so good."

Ding

She cringed as Fred bolted out of his seat toward freedom, feeling bad for essentially mocking his beliefs. Emily briefly feared that her chronic case of cynicism was the main reason why she'd never be able to find a meaningful relationship with anyone. Let alone God. She did her best to shove those thoughts aside as a new man slid into the vacated chair across from her. Emily decided to let him go first this time.

"Hi there, my name is Mike," he sounded pleasant enough; a bit older and balding with bright green eyes. "I sell shoes for a living," Mike continued. "I've been at Macy's for almost twenty-five years now, selling shoes," he nodded. "Do you have any idea how many feet I see in a day's time? A lot," Mike chuckled dryly. "Some are small and kind of cute, but some are old, wrinkled and smell… very bad," he nodded. "But it's my job. And I'm good at it. I like shoes. Everybody has to wear them."

"True," she finally spoke.

"Except for the people that don't wear shoes," he went on. "I don't understand that."

Ding.

"Thank God," Emily sighed, slouching in her chair as the next guy sat down in front of her. He was cute and young and seemed perky. "Emily," she smiled in introduction.

"Name's Harold," the dark haired man replied. "That's my American name," he spoke in perfect English. "I was born in China, to a Chinese mother and American father. He was in the Army. They named me Ho Thym. That's my Chinese name. But here in America I took an American name to try and fit in. I like being bi-racial. I feel like it defines me, you know?" he nodded. "I have twin sisters who have red hair. Crazy, huh? They look like my American father. He's Irish."

Emily tried not to roll her eyes at his conflicting manifesto. "That's good that you…"

"I knew some bi-racial kids in school. They all tried to just be American," Harold cut her off. "I think that's wrong. "I'm proud of my bi-racial status. I like being different."

"Well, we all are really multi-racial," Emily expounded. "I mean, even your father who obviously has Irish in his background."

"But I was born in China, to a Chinese mother and…"

Ding

Her head hung as he took his leave. "Get over yourself," she groaned.

"Excuse me?" a male voice asked.

She sat up and spied the blonde, blue-eyed man. "Sorry, not you." Emily extended a hand. "Emily," she was already getting sick of her name.

"I'm Lance," he replied, sitting. "I'm an actor. Out of work at the moment and visiting my parents. They seem to think I need a woman in my life."

"And you don't?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, sure. But I like to _act_ like I don't," he winked and chuckled boisterously at his own joke. After several seconds he recovered and his tone turned serious. "Did you know that Ronald Regan was an actor before he became president of the United States?" Lance beamed. "I think that is just great. And Arnold Schwarzenegger of course, he was an actor turned Politian. Isn't that just the most fascinating thing ever. From actor to president. That could be me some day."

Ding

"Hello, my name is Samuel," the new man spoke very softly.

Emily's brows bunched. "Why are you whispering?" she inquired.

"Because my mother might hear us. She's very sensitive, so I whisper," he explained. "I hate to wake her. She hits me when I make too much noise in the house. I hate when she hits me. She always hits me for no reason. Ever since I was a boy."

She wasn't sure whether to call the police to report the woman's abuse, or a hospital to have her potential date tossed in the psych ward. "I think our time is up."

"No, it's not," he whispered.

They sat in silence for the longest minute and a half of Emily's life.

Ding

"Whazzup?" a middle-aged white guy plopped himself down in the wooden seat. "My name is Dave, and tonight I had a shave… so I could meet the girl, who would rock my world," he spoke in a slow rap beat. "So, what is your name, so know who to blame… for the way my heart, has been re-start," he grinned.

Her eyes remained widened. "Emily."

"Pretty name, pretty face," he slurred. "Pretty cool the way I made up that little beat right on the spot for ya, huh?" Dave asked. "Rap has become a way of life for me after my basketball career ended. I think I'm getting pretty good at it. It's kind of a religion for me. A philosophy, if you will."

Emily crinkled her nose, done with being polite. "No, I think I won't."

Ding

"Hi, I'm Greg," introduced the newest bachelor. His hair was short, dark brown. Blue eyes and a sweet smile greeted her. He wore a simple cotton t-shirt that housed some very shapely muscles. She was not above noticing shallow details. "I'm a plumber. It's not glamorous, but necessary work. And usually folks are very grateful of the service. I kind of hate how much I have to charge these days, but you kind of have to follow the plumbers code. And no, that doesn't include a butt crack regulation."

She actually got a chuckle out of that. "Plumbing is something most people need serviced once in a while." Emily groaned inwardly, hoping he wouldn't misinterpreted her words for being some kind of dirty euphemism.

"True," he nodded. "And I have a few older clients who I stopped charging," Greg shrugged.

"That's really nice." Emily finally relaxed a little.

"In my free time I started a collection," he went on. "You'll think it's odd, though."

Emily shook her head. "No, I won't."

"I have just over 1800 spider specimens stored in my basement," he revealed. "All dead, naturally. I meant that, of course, they're dead… not that they died naturally."

Ding

"And it started so well," she lamented as Greg moved on to the next unsuspecting female.

A guy sat down and stared at her for a while, neither of them speaking. His phone vibrated and he answered. "No," he growled into the phone. "I told you before I left you were not allowed to leave the house tonight. Not after I found you half naked with your boyfriend last night. I swear if you get pregnant you can raise the bastard on your own. It's bad enough your mother ran off all those years ago saddling me with you. Now stop fucking calling me!"

"Your daughter?"

He glared at her for another short expanse of time. "Demon spawn," he shuddered. "You got any kids?"

"Triplets," Emily nodded, lying through her teeth. "Three teenaged girls. They live with me full time. Love 'em to death."

The guy got up to leave even before the room's clock cried out again.

Ding

"And then she tossed my clothes on the lawn. And then she burned them. And then she ran over the charred pieces with the lawn mower," the man lamented.

Emily wasn't even sure if the guy had introduced himself. Or if she had. "That's rough," she tried to sympathize.

"And then she sold my favorite Bee Gees album on eBay. And then she took my cat to the pound and had him euthanized. And then she ran up a huge credit card bill on her girls only weekend to Miami. And then she canceled my phone service without telling me. And then she told my parents and all my friends that I was gay. And then she had sex with my best friend from college. And then she had his kid."

"That is a serious run of bad luck," Emily acknowledged.

He sneered at her. "Women suck. All of them. And not in the good way. You probably suck, too."

Ding

Emily sat with her forehead resting against the table, cursing Garcia for suggesting speed dating. She cursed herself for being foolish enough, or optimistic enough, to actually go ahead and try it. There was movement across from her as a new guy sat down. But she didn't even bother looking up. "This really isn't working, so I'm going to make things real easy for you, buddy. And the magic words are… I carry a weapon. I know how to use it. And one of my favorite literary characters is someone named Kilgore Trout."

A soft chuckle escaped the man's lips. "I carry a weapon, too. And I'm glad you know how to use yours since it's our job to watch each other's backs," Derek grinned as her head slowly rose to face him. "And, while I do like Kilgore Trout, I think you already know I much prefer William Campbell."

"What the heck are you doing here?" Relief flooded her, instantly feeling at ease in the man's presence.

"Same as you, I imagine," he shrugged. "Found a flyer on my desk. Mysteriously left by someone who I'm guessing goes by the names Penelope and Garcia." Morgan chuckled. "I had no intention of showing up here tonight, but then I found myself at home drinking a beer and scratching Clooney's pudgy belly. That's when I realized my social life has grown rather pathetic in recent years."

"I'd take a dog as company at the moment over any of these bachelors," she replied. "I listened to some guy go on about feet for three minutes."

He smiled again. "I met a woman who swallows fire for a living." Derek noticed her dubious expression. "Seriously, she works with a traveling side show."

She laughed. "Who knew there were so many unique people in the world?"

Ding

"Seems our three minutes are up," Morgan scooted his chair away from the table. He stood nearby as a man with a pink, green and blue Mohawk sat down in front of Emily. Derek took his seat at the next table, but couldn't help glancing over at Emily. He even caught wind of Mr. Mohawk's plans for world domination. They included chicken robots and a lot of energy drinks from what Derek overheard.

He realized he hadn't even been paying attention to the woman across from him. Derek stood, apologized to her and headed back to Emily's table. "Hey, dude," Mohawk man said when he noticed Derek's presence. "Like, it's not time to switch yet. This is my piece of ass for another minute."

Morgan resisted the urge to punch the man. His eyes focused on Emily. "Do you want to get out of here and go have a drink?"

Emily shot to her feet and grabbed her bag. "A drink would be great."

As they exited the establishment together they heard the annoying timer chime one last time.

Ding

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><p><strong>The End<strong>


	2. Three Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

Note: Thank you kindly for all your reviews on my silly one-shot. Due to popular demand (meaning one request and my own interest in what happens next) I have expanded to include five more stories in this series. Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>Three Hours<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

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><p>The plate of nachos between them had once been a heaping stack of warm, gooey cheese. Now a few scattered tortilla chips sat on the green plate, specks of dried cheese cementing them to the porcelain. Four long-necked bear bottles resided on the table, two empty, and two still being nursed by the booth's occupants. The bar's atmosphere was lively, music and dancing in one corner, the soft din of pool players at the other end of the establishment.<p>

Derek briefly glanced at his watch. He didn't desire the evening to come to an end, but he was surprised it had lasted hours already. "So, you never did get a chance to voice your opinion on chicken domination," he grinned, bringing his bottle up for another quick swig. "Do you think there's enough energy drink in the world to make that conquest a reality?"

She shook her head, drawing a small bit of beer from her bottle and letting it slide down the back of her throat. "Can we please not go there," Emily begged.

He chuckled. "Sure, but I should tell you I was inches away from punching that creep in the nose."

"So was I," she agreed.

Morgan nodded, admiring the fact that she was the type of woman who probably wouldn't balk at punching a guy for being a jerk. "Thank you for this," he said, suddenly turning reflective after a nice long evening of casual conversation with a good friend.

"For what?" Emily asked.

"Tonight," he replied.

"We have Garcia to thank for the speed dating," she countered. "And Clooney to thank for getting you off the sofa," she teased.

He chuckled. "True enough. But if not for the nachos, beers and your company… this night would've been another notch in my dwindling social life."

Emily smiled. "Nice of you to place me last on that list."

"There was no particular order," he claimed.

She let him sweat a moment, digesting his previous words. "Is it really so hard for you to have a social life?" Emily inquired, touching on ground they'd steered clear of all evening. Her head nodded toward the dancing crowd to their left. "I'm sure you could jump in there right now and have a swarm of ladies willing and able," she guessed. "You forget I've seen it happen before. I've witnessed you getting your grove _thang_ on."

His eyes rolled and he groaned. "Yes, I suppose I could," Derek gave in. "But the kind of women I attract doing that are the sort I might buy a drink or two, dance with, maybe even take home for a…" he trailed off. "But they're not the sort to stick around till morning, or spend more than one night."

"Is that what you're looking for?" she persisted, though she had no idea why. "Are you considering settling down in your old age?"

"Old age?" he scoffed, waving his bottle at her. "Listen here, I'm pretty sure you've got a year or two on me lady," Derek taunted. He delighted in the way her eyes widened and her lips turned downward in a pouty manner. "I don't know," he shrugged, answering more honestly. "Not really. The job takes up too much time, and…"

"And?" Emily wasn't about to let him stop now. Not when she was finally having the best conversation of the evening.

Derek sighed. "The dangers of the job make me not want to bring anyone along for that ride," he admitted. "I watched my mother struggle after my dad died. We all struggled. It was hard. I just don't think it's fair to do that to any woman."

"I imagine your mother knew what she was getting into," Emily countered. "She's a very smart and savvy lady. She must have loved your father enough to accept him and the risks of the job. Personally, I think that's wonderful," she voiced. "I have so many inhibitions it's just… pathetic." Emily could see the doubt in his eyes, but she insisted. "Take tonight's speed dating, for example," she went on. "I sat there completely disgusted by the representation of the male species, but I was also glad they all turned out to be duds."

"Why?" he was more than a little curious.

"Because it gave me an out," she revealed, as if that were perfectly obvious. "I didn't have to try hard to impress anyone, and I planned to go home tonight secure in the knowledge that there were no guys good enough for me. I could just keep on living my life safely hiding behind the fact that I was picky, and perfectly happy and better off on my own."

He was impressed by her level of honesty. "I guess that's kind of the same thing I do. Kind of selfish, isn't it? Now that I think about it."

Emily could only nod. "Selfish and rather lonely." She glanced at her watch and her eyes bulged a little. "Is that really the time? I can't believe we've been sitting here talking for this long," she marveled. "And not once did I look at my watch or eye the door wanting to make my great escape."

"Guess I'm good company," Derek playfully boasted.

"It's late, though," she regrettably informed him. "We have work tomorrow."

"But tomorrow is Friday," he countered. "And if things stay slow we'll have a whole weekend off to rest. Say you'll have just one more beer with me tonight?"

She chuckled. "I think your logic is a little screwy," Emily noted. "And if I have another beer I'll need a cab."

"We can share one," he quickly offered. "Come on," Derek stood and expertly grabbed all four empty beer bottles from the table. "I'm going to get you another," he edged away from the table. "Please promise you'll be here when I get back?"

A smile bloomed despite the fact that she was a little tired. "I'll be here," she caved.

It was only a few minutes later that he returned, passing her an opened bottle and sliding back into the seat across from her. "Okay," he began. "Perfect date."

"Excuse me," Emily stared at him as she took her first sip. The cool amber liquid settled smoothly against her tongue.

"Tell me what your idea of the perfect date would be," Derek clarified what he was after.

"I don't know," she shrugged dismissively.

His head shook. "Of course you do. You're a woman, right? All women know exactly what their perfect date would be like. They know what kind of dress they'll wear at their wedding, how many kids they want and what their names will be," Derek spoke with utmost confidence. "I have two sisters, remember? They used to tell me this crap all the time."

Emily couldn't help laughing, mainly because it was pathetically true. She was also a little disappointed that he'd mentioned his sisters within the same context of their conversation. It was hard not to jump to the conclusion that he thought of her as a sister. But she gave in nonetheless. "A meal."

Morgan sat there for a moment waiting for more. "What kind of meal? Be less vague."

"This is weird," she let him know.

"I'll start, then," Derek offered. "My ideal date would be to take the lady I like to Wriggly Field."

Her mouth hung open for a moment. "A baseball park? Seriously?"

"Not just any baseball park, Emily," he insisted. "Wrigley field is the epitome of all that's right with America. Baseball is America's number one pastime," Derek defended his choice. "Just picture this with me… left field of Wrigley, right across from third base. We sit so close that the smell of fresh cut crass assaults our noses. The Cubs' third baseman is almost close enough to touch if we stretch our arms enough. And we've got hotdogs."

"Of course," Emily nodded along, mostly intrigued by the way he kept saying we.

"And mustard so thick and creamy it should be outlawed," Derek continued. "We each take bites and she gets a little mustard on the corner of her lip. I reach over and brush it off…"

She snickered derisively. "How many corny movies have you watched?"

"Shush," Morgan put a hand up. "You had your chance." He took a slow drink, watching as she glared at him. Derek chuckled softly. "Okay, now it's the bottom of the ninth. The sun has gone down, the stadium lights are on. City skyline in the background is all lit up. Cubs are down seven to five. Bases are loaded. Suddenly, the crack of a bat echoes through the stadium and the ball is up, soaring. He runs toward first, he rounds to second and heads for third. They're waving him home, the ball is thrown, the runner slides and he's safe!"

Emily couldn't help adore his enthusiasm, though she had very little idea about what he'd just described. "Is that a home run?"

"Yeees," he exaggerated the word, stymied by the idea that she didn't know. "The bases were loaded so they got four runs total. They won the game by two runs," Derek explained. He watched her nod a little, a tiny bit of understanding dawning. "The crowd goes wild," he went on. "Everyone is on their feet, cheering, waving their hands. The homerun hitter is lifted onto the shoulders of his team mates. The excitement in the stadium is as high as possible and I turn to you and we kiss, and…" he trailed off.

"Um," she felt her mouth go dry. "Me?"

"Sorry, I meant _her_… whoever my date is," Derek quickly tried to cover. "Not you, you were just here and I kind of got caught up in the story."

Her heart was beating a little faster, even though he'd tried to back pedal. She felt herself getting caught up as well. "The place my perfect date meal occurs is somewhere small, intimate. Low light, candles on the tables, a nice wine to sip. Homemade Italian pasta, portabella ravioli with basil pesto that melts in your mouth." Emily took a swallow of her beer and let her thumb slid down the condensation on the bottle.

Derek's mouth watered a little. "Just the meal?" he asked, not wanting their conversation to end even after their last bottles of beer, which were already nearly gone.

"Theater."

"A good movie?"

"No," her head shook. "Not the latest car chase blockbuster. I mean a play at a real theater. Shakespeare, Fiddler on the Roof, or something silly and light. Then a stroll through the park, moonlight and stars. No worries of an UnSub hiding in the shadows. We hold hands and…" she stopped short of saying: you. "_He_ kisses me and walks me home."

Morgan shrugged. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad either," he agreed.

She took a last drink and slid the bottle into the center of the table. "I believe you promised me a cab."

Morgan nodded and they walked outside, greeted by the early spring night. A gentle breeze blew. Derek hailed a cab and held the door for her. She pushed hair behind her ears, the wind picking up just as she was trying to make a graceful entrance into the vehicle. Instead, she stumbled and hit her head on the doorframe before landing on her butt against the black vinyl seat. Derek slid in beside her and chuckled while he gave the driver Emily's address.

"Only three beers and you're drunk?" he inquired.

"No," Emily rolled her eyes. "I just slipped."

"How's your head?" he asked.

With her index finger, she gingerly touched the sore spot. "Fine. I'll live," Emily was more embarrassed than anything.

When they arrived at her building Derek asked the driver to wait for him then got out to walk Emily to her door. "Can we do this again?" Morgan asked, surprising both of them. "A real date," he clarified. "Will you go out with me on Sunday?"

Emily stared at him, unable to think of a reason against or for the idea. "Okay," the word came out easily.

He kissed her cheek. "Good, I'll see you then."

"Actually, we'll see each other tomorrow at work," she reminded him.

Derek's brows rose. "Right," he nodded. "This could get interesting."

"It could," Emily agreed.

"But it certainly won't be selfish or lonely," Morgan added.

She smiled as he dashed back toward the waiting cab. "Not at all," Emily whispered.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>


	3. Three Days

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Days<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>Sunday morning dawned, cool and overcast. Emily lay awake in her bed, starring out through the sliver between her curtains. She couldn't seem to get a certain colleague of the male species off her mind. Friday at work had been slow. Saturday had been spent shopping, reading and resting. And, much to her annoyance, she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything other than waiting for Morgan to call. But he hadn't. Not all day.<p>

The cell phone by her bed rang, causing her to slip back into the present. Emily grabbed it and saw his name. "Hello," she answered blankly.

"Hi," Derek greeted amiably. "Hope it's not too early to be calling?"

"No," her tone remained aloof. The reality of a horrible speed dating venture and then a wonderful three hour conversation with Derek still seemed like a dream. "Morgan, look, about today and you asking me out," Emily paused. "We can just forget about it if you want. We'd both been drinking the other night and there's a lot more to think about here than just a date. We work together and you obviously have reservations about relationships that last beyond one night of sex. So…"

"Whoa, hey," he stopped her. "Can I say something and not have my head bitten off without cause?" Derek waited a second and heard nothing in response. In a softer manner he spoke again. "Emily, are you upset that I haven't called until now?"

She nodded to herself, but covered in answer. "What? No. That's not what this is about," Emily tried to play it off.

He chuckled softly. "I had to take Clooney to the vet yesterday because he's been having some stomach issues. Then I had to get some special food and meds for him. He should be fine, but I was kind of worried because he's not getting any younger. Then I had laundry piled up and, well, the day got away from me. But I called the first thing this morning," Derek let her know, "Haven't even had a single drop of coffee yet."

Now she felt like crap. "I'm sorry I got so weird about it all," she apologized.

"I wasn't drunk the other night when I asked you out," he insisted. "And I really want tonight to happen. What do you say, pick you up at six?"

Like three days ago, his words melted her and she could only think to say, "Okay."

The rest of her morning and afternoon were spent trying on clothes. By four o'clock, everything in her closet was heaped atop her bed and Emily still wasn't sure what to wear for her evening with Derek. She decided to shower and hope that something would magically appear when she walked back into the room. But, hair dripping and robe-clad, Emily found that the clothing situation in her room hadn't changed twenty minutes later.

"Blue," she finally made a decision. "Blue is good," Emily rummaged through the sea of dresses and plucked out a teal A-line that hit just above the knee. "Guys like blue," she continued to work it up in her head as the perfect choice. Matching it with a favorite pair of boots, a purse and jacket, Emily was fully dressed, coifed and ready at a quarter to six.

His knock came at five till and she answered the door with a smile. "Wow," Derek was impressed. "You look great," he was sure to let her know. "It's a good thing you don't wear stuff like that to work," Morgan leaned in and kissed her cheek the way he had the other night. "And you smell…"

Emily's nose wrinkled as she watched him standing there in a bit of a daze. "I smell?"

Morgan grinned. "Good," he finally spoke again. "Jasmine and vanilla," he added. "It's taken me years to figure out that combo. I remember the first time we shook hands in the BAU conference room and that smell lingered on my palm all day."

She was beginning to get the feeling that Derek asking her out on a date had been a long time coming. They exited her condo and Derek drove them outside the main hub of DC to a small Italian restaurant. When they walked inside Emily immediately noticed the white table clothes and candles flickering at every table. Soft violin music played, the lights were low and they were seated at a small, exposed, but intimate table for two.

"How'd you find this place?" Emily inquired.

"I have my ways," he mysteriously replied.

A knowing grin sprouted upon her lips. "And her name is Garcia," Emily voiced.

He shrugged. Several moments later he closed his menu. "We should find someplace else to eat."

"Excuse me?" Emily was worried.

"They don't have portabella ravioli here," Derek gravely informed her.

Her smile returned, realizing he was trying to make her perfect date come true. It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing a guy had ever done for her. "Doesn't matter," she told him, perusing the menu again. "Look, they have spinach and sausage ravioli with pesto. That sounds even better," she insisted.

Derek eyed her. "You sure?"

"Positive," Emily nodded.

He ordered the chicken parmesan over linguini with marinara, she got the ravioli. Both were equally wonderful and they shared bites of each other's meals. When the waiter came around again after the table had been cleared, he sat down a white plate with a perfectly square serving of tiramisu centered on it. "Complements of the house since it's your first visit here," he announced. "I hope it won't be your last."

When the waiter departed, Derek forked off a bite and held it out for Emily. "I'm too full," her head shook.

"No one is too full for desert," he insisted, starting to fly the fork around like one would to entice a small child. "Just one bite," he tempted.

She opened her mouth, took the bite and closed her eyes. As the flavors exploded in her mouth she immediately wanted another taste. When her eyes reopened she spotted Derek with another bite ready and waiting for her. "You're incorrigible," she smiled, allowing the second bite to melt on her lips the same as the first.

"Excuse me," a sweet voice spoke up from their right side. Emily and Derek turned to see an elderly couple seated at the table next to them. "I hate to interrupt," the old woman politely said. "But I just think the two of you are adorable. How long have you been married?"

Derek swapped a surprised look with Emily, but he easily ran with it. "Not even a year yet. Still newlyweds," he grinned.

"I knew it," the woman beamed, turning back to her husband. "I told you. How sweet."

Emily glared at her date. "You lied to that delightful old lady," she whispered.

"It was just a small fib," he countered. "She would've been disappointed otherwise."

A head shake came in response to his cocky nature. Soon they were paying the check and rushing out of the restaurant, although Derek refused to tell her where they were headed next. Emily was more than a little surprised when they exited his SUV outside of a high school auditorium were a crowd of people were moving toward the open doors. Derek remained silent about what they were doing there, but she figured it out when a teenage girl smiled and handed them each a program for their production of, _Oklahoma_.

"Theater?" she chuckled.

He winked at her as they made their way toward some seats down front. "I figure this version will be much less stuffy than Broadway."

The curtains went up at eight o'clock and Emily enjoyed every second of the two and half hour event. From the first uplifting cords of 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' to the last ensemble rendition of 'People Will Say We're in Love'. The room, filled mostly with staff, parents and other family of the performers, erupted in applause. And a standing ovation was given to the hard-working and talented teenagers of Annandale High who reemerged to give their proper bows to the appreciative audience.

Somehow Emily found her fingers entwined with Derek's as they exited the auditorium and were hit by the chill of another Spring night. "Excuse me?" a woman tapped Emily on the shoulder causing her and Derek to spin around. "You look so familiar," the blonde woman pondered. "Are you Ryan Jackson's parents? Senior class president and captain of the football team. You two must be so proud."

"Uh, no," Emily immediately corrected the woman. "We're not." She thought about leaving it there for a moment, but couldn't resist the next remark out of her mouth. "Our daughter, Anabelle, she's a freshman this year," Emily grinned.

"That's lovely," the woman smiled. "Sorry I got you confused," she waved as her husband drew her away.

Derek took Emily's hand in his again as they walked toward the SUV. "Did you just lie to that nice woman?" he asked in a teasing manner.

"A small fib," she gave him the same answer he'd given her earlier. "It was kind of fun to pretend."

He nodded, getting the door for her. Then he drove out to West Potomac Park. Even in the dim illumination of lamp light, the cherry blossoms seemed to glitter with life. Hands were held again as they meandered along the path. "Sorry this wasn't the perfect evening you described."

"It was perfect just the way it happened," Emily insisted. "In fact, it was better," she insisted. "I was so impressed by the way you described your perfect date at the ballpark. You had such enthusiasm and detail. I kind of just made mine up as I went along. I don't feel like I have enthusiasm for anything the way you do."

Morgan guided her toward a bench. "Except for the job," he replied. "I've watched you the last few years. You transitioned from this unsure agent into an amazing profiler. You add a little something extra to what we do, Emily. I see you stay with a victim longer than necessary, giving them time to process the ordeal. I watch you place a reassuring hand against a parent's shoulder when the interview is over. You don't just do your job with intelligence and procedure. You add generosity and love. That's thoughtful enthusiasm."

Despite the chill in the night air, Emily felt her cheeks warm a little as she and Derek sat on the bench, shoulders touching and hands still clasped. "I'm glad we did this. I'm sorry I almost got cold feet," she whispered, not wanting the night to end.

He turned to her. "My first kiss was with a girl name Jessica Richards when I was a freshman in high school," Derek said out of the blue. "I took her out for burgers and a movie on a Friday night. Actually, my mother had to drive us," he was embarrassed by the fact. "And when I walked her to the door I finally made my move. Then she made hers. She turned her head and I ended up slobbering all over her ear."

Emily laughed heartily, appreciating the fact that not even Derek Morgan was perfect. "I'm surprised you ever dared to kiss another girl in your life."

His left hand gently clasped the back of her slender neck. "I like to think my timing has improved," he whispered before leaning in.

Eyes closed. Breath hitched. Their lips met with a soft mingling of flesh, a fiery spark of discovery between them. The kiss broke off suddenly and they starred at one another, desire clouding their eyes, the mystery of what would happen next pooling in their bellies. It was barely a mystery, though, when they kissed again. This time it was a lingering union, more passionate than before, already familiar. They explored and savored one another.

His fingers carefully untangled from her hair and she let her head fall against his shoulder. No man had ever made her feel so uninhibited after just a single night's date. "I believe your technique has improved as well," Emily grinned.

Derek drew her hand toward his lips, kissed her knuckles. "I've had some practice while waiting for you," he replied. "You sure took long enough to come into my life."

"Sorry," she replied. "Afraid I got a little lost along the way," Emily concluded before initiating another kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>


	4. Three Weeks

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Weeks<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>Emily felt dampness against her cheek. It turned into a soft licking at her lips. Her eyes remained closed, tempted at first, but rather put off by the smell. "Derek, you might want to think about brushing away that morning breath before you try waking me up this way," she hoped her words were gentle enough. As her eyes finally opened, Emily laughed to find Clooney licking her ear. She shooed the dog away. "Buddy, if your first name was George I might be more inclined," Emily chuckled.<p>

She rolled over in Derek's bed to find him absent. Clooney remained. Emily had always considered herself more of a cat person, but Clooney was pretty much a dog-shaped cat. He liked to lay curled in a ball on the bed, and even his soft snoring sounded a bit like a cat purr. "Where's your human friend?" she asked the dog while pushing back covers.

Her bare feet padded to the bathroom. She emerged several minutes later with Morgan's flannel robe wrapped about her naked body. Emily found Derek downstairs in the kitchen. Most of the house was remodeled, new plumbing and windows, but the floors were still plywood and the kitchen had no countertops or major appliances other than a refrigerator. That's where she found Derek leaning and drinking juice out of the cardboard container.

"So you're one of those," she announced her presence.

"Huh?" he looked up. "One of who, what?"

"A milk carton drinker," Emily waved a hand at the orange and white container. "Juice, whatever…" she corrected, walking toward him. "I figured growing up in a house full of women that you wouldn't have obtained such a bad habit."

Derek shrugged. "I always put the toilet seat down," he defended.

"That you do," she smiled. "And I thank you," she gave him a quick kiss.

Morgan took another swig of juice, not seeming to think there was anything wrong with doing so. "I've lived on my own a lot longer than I ever lived with my mom and sisters. I guess I've developed a lot of bad habits," he explained, though he sounded less than sorry for it.

"I suppose of the two, the toilet seat is the more important issues," she conceded. "And I have faith there's still time to break you of this one," Emily added, freeing the juice container from his hands. She screwed the cap on and placed it back in the fridge.

"Only if you promise me sex in exchange," his hands reached out and caught her by the waist. Derek lowered his head to kiss her properly.

She savored the sweet tang of orange juice on his lips. "I could probably make that sacrifice," Emily gave in.

"Oh, it's a sacrifice on your part, is it?" he dramatically lifted her over his shoulder and proceeded to tickle behind her knees where he knew her to be highly sensitive. Derek laughed as she tried to squirm away. He walked her over to his sofa and plopped her down, straddling either side of her. "I really want to drink juice from the source, Emily," he spoke huskily, gazing into her brown eyes. "Are you sure that's a habit you want to break me of?"

Heat pooled in her belly and beyond. Her head shook as she drew him down, slender legs hooked behind his back. "No, it's really not," she whispered.

Their lips had barely touched when the sound of a vibrating cell phone ruined the mood. "Ignore it," Derek tried to remain focused.

"But it could be…" Emily didn't finish as his kiss silenced her. The cell phone stopped, but a second later anther phone rang. She felt his body slacken. "It could be work," she finally finished her previous thought.

With a growl of annoyance, Morgan rolled off her and went for the phone. He didn't even realize it was her cell and not his when he greeted with a gruff, "Hello?"

Several hours later they were gathered at a crime scene. One male body, gunshot wound. A suicide note had been found on his computer, which Garcia was going over. Same type of scenario found at two other scenes in the last three weeks. After a brief team meeting, the BAU split off to carefully investigate the rest of the house and surrounding grounds. Emily was helping JJ go through the man's bedroom.

"So, when I called your phone, Morgan answered," JJ said as she searched the clothes closet.

"Hmm?" Emily pretended to be distracted by what was under the bed, which was nothing but a few dust bunnies.

JJ grinned. "I called Morgan and no one answered. I called you and Morgan answered."

"Interesting," the profiler responded, her voice muffled from beneath the bed.

The smile on JJ's face grew. "I always saw it, I just never thought either one of you would go for it."

"Me neither," Emily agreed. She crawled out from beneath the bed and stood. "Guess that cat is out of the bag," she shrugged.

"What cat?" Garcia asked, sashaying into the room. "And, more importantly, what bag?"

"Emily and Morgan," JJ revealed.

The computer tech's purple eye shadow expanded as her brows rose. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. "It was the speed dating, right? And then he asked me to find that small Italian restaurant for him," she continued to sleuth out the truth. "That was for you."

"Guilty as charged," Emily didn't bother denying it. "Can we just, please, keep this…" she waved a finger between the two women. "Quiet." They both nodded their agreement, but Emily was more intrigued by something she witnessed through the half opened blinds in the room that looked out into the back yard. Derek was out there with a female detective who currently had her hand pressed against his shoulder in a very friendly manner.

"Prentiss," Hotch's voice entered the room.

She spun around to face her superior. "Still haven't found anything to indicate a connection to the other victims," Emily promptly reported.

"And the guy's computer system is slightly insane, sir," Penelope spoke up. "The stuff I'm finding makes very little sense to me, which is why I came looking for help. It's coded, or something. I honestly can't figure it out, which leaves me depressed and cranky."

"JJ and Reid can help you," Hotch instructed. "Prentiss, I need you and Morgan to check out the ex-wife for me. She lives across town."

She nodded and exited the room, happy to have an excuse to interrupt Derek and his new friend in the very exposed backyard. "Hey," she greeted him with as much work professionalism as she could muster. "Hotch wants us to talk to the ex-wife," she announced, noticing the detective had stepped away to investigate something by the garage.

"Let's go," he agreed. Derek drove through the mid-day traffic, which caused their trip to take longer than normal. And he couldn't help noticing that Emily was quieter than usual. Morgan momentarily broke the silence between them. "You okay?"

"Yeah," her response came swiftly. "Fine, just thinking about the case."

He took her at her word and steered the last five minutes until they arrived outside a large Victorian home. The house was lemony yellow with pristine white trim, lawn perfectly green and freshly cut. They made their way up the front walk and Emily cleared her head of all previous thought about Derek and the female detective. They had a job to perform now and her head needed to be in the game. They were about to knock when Derek noticed the door was already open. He pushed it in further.

Voices wafted toward them from the back of the house. Raised and angry voices. "You cannot just run," a deep male tone boomed. "The police will suspect something."

"There's nothing that can tie me to those murders," a softer, but still strong, female voice replied.

"How about the fact that you were married to one of them," the man responded. "That might interest the police. And if anyone can figure out that ridiculous code you created for your messages you'll be finished, Mary," he concluded.

The woman sighed so loudly it echoed through the house. "And what would you do if I left without your permission?"

"I think you already know what I'm capable of," he replied, the distinct sound of a gun being cocked punctuated his words.

Derek used hand signals to indicate he was going to move around to the back of the house. Emily nodded and waited a goodly amount of time for him to get into position. They'd performed the dance many times before like a well-oiled machine. She stormed into the kitchen, gun aimed. "FBI, don't move!" she shouted. A gunshot zinged past her shoulder and the man took off for the back door. Emily eyed the woman who stood with her hands raised.

"At least someone listens," Emily growled, cuffing the woman to the handle bar on the oven door. Then she took off after the shooter. She was barely outside when her cell rang. It was Derek. "Where are you?"

"On foot," he explained briefly. "Guy's headed west. He might have a vehicle nearby. Take the SUV and swing north-west. We need to cut him off."

Emily didn't get to say a word before the call was cut off. She dashed back around the house, jumped into the SUV and followed his instructions to the letter. She spotted the shooter in an alley two blocks from the ex-wife's place. There was no Derek in sight, but the shooter managed to get inside a silver truck and took off. Emily accelerated. Seconds later, Derek jumped over a fence into the alley and straight into the truck's path.

"Don't be stupid, Morgan," Emily mumbled to herself. "He's not going to stop for you."

She was right. The shooter kept driving toward Derek without slowing. Emily hit the gas and rammed into the back of his truck, sending him careening to the left, away from Derek. But not enough to keep Derek from colliding with the corner of the truck. He rolled with the hit and seemed unharmed as he hauled the shooter out of the vehicle and cuffed him. Emily immediately called for backup then exited the SUV.

Morgan tossed the shooter inside the SUV and locked it. Then he finally let himself be aware that his right side was aching. He pulled his t-shirt up a little and spotted the large bruise forming. "That's great," Emily shook her head, examining his ribs. He flinched a little when she pressed against one spot in particular. "Always have to play the tough guy, don't you. Running in front of moving vehicles. Brilliant," she scoffed.

"Hey," he grabbed her arm. "I'm fine, and we caught they guy." Morgan looked into her eyes and saw the worry circling there. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Emily shrugged out of his hold. "Well, sue me for being concerned," she snapped. "I can't help that I love you enough to worry and be jealous."

"Jealous?" Derek wore a curious smirk.

"That lady detective who had her hands all over you," she knew it was bad form discussing their private life while still in the middle of a case. But she didn't much care at the moment.

"That lady detective's name is Mrs. Deanna Fredrick," he couldn't help smiling. "She's married to a man I worked with during my time as a Chicago cop. I didn't even know they'd moved here until I saw her today," he explained.

Her body relaxed a little. "Oh… well… I'm sorry."

"And you love me," he noted.

"Hmm?"

He prayed Hotch and the others would take their sweet time arriving on scene as he drew Emily close, a hand pressing firmly against the small of her back. "I just can't believe you said it first," he grinned. "I was actually planning a thing tonight."

She realized the truth of his words, but didn't regret what she'd said. "A thing?"

"I wanted to take you out for our three week anniversary," Derek revealed. "Let you know how special you are to me."

Emily suddenly felt ridiculous for her earlier behavior. "You mean my special combo of neurosis and anxiety," she laughed.

"Well, it does seem to be a package deal," he nodded, sneaking a quick kiss. "But…" a second kiss lasted even longer. "I love the package very much," Derek insisted.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>


	5. Three Months

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Months<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>Emily wandered around the small apartment's living and dining area. She glanced at a few trinkets, but mainly focused on the framed photographs. They showed Derek and his sisters at all stages of life; crawling, school pageants and graduations. Emily had seen some of them before, briefly, as she'd questioned Fran Morgan and her daughters. Now she had time to study the pictures and marvel at the mostly happy life Fran had forged for herself and her three children.<p>

"More ice tea," the woman in question exited the kitchen carrying a plastic pitcher.

"Please," Emily readily agreed, walking to the table to grab her glass. She went to pour, but Fran wouldn't allow it. Just as she hadn't allowed Emily to help clean up, insisting she was a guest and on vacation. "Thank you," Emily politely said as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of the cool drink. It was the perfect refreshment for a hot July day. "And thank you again for letting me stay here," she added, "Especially the part about allowing Derek and I to share a room."

Fran sunk onto a chair and refilled her own glass. "Please, I'm not as old fashioned as my son may think," she replied, beckoning Emily to sit.

A small laugh emitted from Emily as she sat. "He's also not very subtle," she noted. "I get the feeling his sudden need for ice cream was more along the lines of wanting you and I to spend some time together."

"You caught that, did you?" Fran grinned. "He actually came out and told me as much before he left with Desi."

"Ah," Emily nodded. "So, I'm on trial here?"

"Not at all, dear," the older woman insisted. "I'm glad to have this time. All last night and most of today my dear son has dominated the conversation, telling me everything he can about you. It would be nice to know something about you that he doesn't tell me," she said. "Such as, what are your intentions toward my son?"

With a dear in the headlights look, Emily's whole body tensed. "Uh, well… we've only been dating for a few months and…"

Derek's mother leaned forward and put a hand to Emily's forearm. "I was only joking, dear," she revealed. Fran sat back. "Honestly, all I need to know about you is that Derek loves you. I trust my son's judgment." After a moment of thought, she amended, "Well, at least since he's matured. During those teenage years I barely trusted him to take out the garbage," she sighed. "He was a handful that one."

Emily watched as the woman's eyes clouded. She could almost guess where Fran's thoughts had drifted. "Does he talk to you about Carl Buford?" she bravely asked.

Fran nodded. "Very little," she confessed. "After Buford's arrest and news about the other young men who came forward, I pretty much guessed Derek's part in all of it." Her lips pressed together tightly. "There is no greater regret as a parent to know that your child was hurt in such a way while you were oblivious," she sighed. "I mean, obviously I knew things were upsetting him. I just wish he could have told me."

Placing her hand atop Fran's, Emily said, "He's spoken to me about it a little. I know he just wants to shield you from it. And he wants to move past it."

A nod from Fran preceded her grateful words. "I can't tell you what a comfort it is to me that he can confide in you."

"What Derek's done for me is far greater," Emily insisted. "My parents and I, we don't talk like this," she explained. "I used to resent it, but I've grown to accept that they're just not openly emotional people. Derek, though, he listens. He knows how to cheer me up, and when to just keep his mouth shut," she chuckled. "You raised an amazing son."

"I've always thought he was special," Fran replied with pride, "Though I am a bit biased on the subject matter. And I can't take all the credit. Derek is a lot like his father, Sam," she expressed. "Even without Sam in his life, Derek grew to be just as kind, fierce and loyal."

The apartment door swung open and Morgan breezed inside with a plastic bag in hand. "Are you ready?" he called across the room before disappearing into the kitchen.

Emily looked to Fran with questioning eyes, but the older woman could only shrug. "Did I mention he also has Samuel's odd propensity for making absolutely no sense at times?"

Derek rushed back into the main room and eyed Emily. "You're not ready, you have no shoes on and you might need a sweater for later." He watched as she continued to sit there staring blankly at him. "Come on," he drew her to her feet. "Go, grab something. We need to leave," he insisted. As Emily blindly obeyed and slipped out of the room, Derek grinned from ear to ear as he regarded his mother. "Do you approve?"

"You don't need my approval," Fran replied.

He squatted beside his mother and held her hand. "It matters to me, mama," Derek insisted.

"Then you have it, wholeheartedly," she kissed his cheek.

Emily reemerged and Derek instantly shot to his feet and grabbed her hand. "Come on," his energy was high, like that of a child. "Let's go," he dragged her out the door with barely a goodbye to his mother. He managed to dodge Emily's myriad of questions as they walked to their rental car. Derek maintained the silent treatment all the way across town. But when they parked at Wrigley Field it was hard to keep the secret any longer. "Ready for my version?" he asked.

She grinned brightly. "Lead on," Emily agreed.

Past the gates, she discovered that the ballpark was just as Derek had described. The large structure was open to the outdoors, but it still felt intimate as they shimmied into their seats along the third base line. They weren't nearly close enough to touch the third baseman, but she could certainly smell fresh cut grass. And the outfield wall of the stadium was covered in ivy all abloom. The weather had gone from blazing earlier in the day to bearably warm in the evening.

Morgan did his best to engage her in the game, explaining nearly everything. He was pleasantly surprised to find her asking questions and really getting into the game by the seventh inning. "What does that mean… seventh inning stretch?" Emily asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," he took her hand and they both stood. "We get up and stretch after sitting for so long," he explained. "And we sing."

"Sing?"

He pointed to the small electronic message board as the crowd began to sing. "Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd …" Morgan sang.

A smile formed as she read the words on screen and joined in, a bit timidly at first. "Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back…"

"Let me root, root, root for the home team," most of the stadium sang that part the loudest. "If they don't win it's a shame…"

"For its one, two, three strikes you're out…" Emily sang with a goofy grin on her face, still eyeing the lyrics on the board. "At the old ball game," she concluded with the others. "Okay, I have to admit this is a lot of fun. Not something I ever thought I'd do, but very enjoyable."

Derek smiled happily at that. "I'm glad you think so," he said. "Because I was hoping we might make it a tradition."

"What kind of tradition?" she was curious.

"Like, maybe we come to watch a game at Wrigley Field every July in honor of the anniversary of our engagement," he suggested while carefully dropping to one knee in the very narrow aisle. Morgan still held tight to her hand. "Will you marry me?" he asked.

His words and actions were about the last thing she'd been expecting, and it showed on her face. "Derek, we… we've only been dating three months."

"So," he shrugged off her hesitation. "I've known you for years, and I know I love you. I also know there's no one else in the world I want to spend the rest of my life with," Derek insisted. "But maybe you need a little more incentive," he said while fishing something out of his front jean pocket. Morgan revealed the diamond ring, holding it out to her. "Please, say you'll marry me?" he asked a second time.

Emily was still in a state of shock as she stared down at him. The man she loved on his knees, a ring in his hands, it was all a far cry from listening to some guy go one for three minutes about feet and shoes. Yet she still felt apprehensive. "I don't know," she honestly whispered.

Undaunted, Derek remained on his knee, though the hard concrete was digging in and the game had resumed. "There's a great story behind this ring," he began. "You see, when my father wanted to propose to my mom he was still at the police academy and he was trying hard to save for a place to live. So he asked his mother if he could use the ring his dad had proposed with," Morgan explained. "The ring has been in our family for several generations," he went on.

"My great, great, I'm not sure how many great's, grandfather, Hiram, was brought to this country as a slave. He was just ten years old and worked for a family in Kentucky who gave him the name Hiram. He worked there for many years before he met the woman he wanted to marry, another young slave on the same property, Anna. His master said he'd allow Hiram to either work extra in order to earn enough money for a measly diamond ring, or enough to pay for a marriage, but not both.

"Hiram agreed to work for the ring, which took him ten years. And when he'd obtained it, he made another deal with his master to make Anna his legal wife," Derek explained. "They were both in their late thirties by then, and she'd already bore him five sons though they were never legally allowed to marry. And, unfortunately, Hiram worked himself to death before he ever earned that right in his master's eyes."

She swallowed a lump. "That's unbelievably sad," Emily sighed, oblivious to her surroundings.

He nodded. "Yes, but that master gave Anna a choice after Hiram's death. He told her she could keep the ring, or sell it to earn her freedom and that of her children. She chose to keep the ring, and she worked another thirty long, hard years on that property which eventually earned her three surviving son's freedom. The ring was passed to the eldest of those boys, and down through the generations," Morgan concluded.

The small, simple diamond shimmered beneath the stadium lights as Derek clasped it tightly. "I doubt my ancestors imagined that someday their great, great… whatever… grandson would be using this ring to propose in a baseball park," he smiled. "But it represents their undying fidelity and steadfast love. And I really want you to have it, Emily." Derek's brows arched. "Please, don't make me ask a third time. I'd hate to strike out."

Laughter bubbled up where moments ago she'd been too frightened to follow her heart. "Yes," she finally nodded. "I'll marry you," Emily agreed.

A cheer went up as Derek slipped the ring on her finger. Emily took a moment to glance out at the field, but she didn't notice any significant play. That's when she realized the people around them had been cheering for her and Derek. A gentle tap on her shoulder turned Emily's head as Derek stood. Emily looked over her shoulder to see a young woman smiling down at her. "I believe it's tradition to kiss after accepting a marriage proposal," the girl said.

"I think she's right," Derek agreed.

Emily's smile remained as she happily wrapped her arms about his neck. "Guess we shouldn't disappoint our fans," she whispered.

"No, we shouldn't," he agreed.

Their lips finally met in a tender, solidifying, moment that they shared with Wrigley Field.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>


	6. Three Years

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Years<strong>

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>The jet was quiet and dark as Derek made his way to the back of the aircraft. Everyone on the team was curled up and resting, except for the woman at the rear of the plane. He slipped into the seat beside her. Emily didn't move or respond to his presence. Her eyes remained focused on the gray clouds outside the plane's small window, which her head rested against. He reached across her lap to take her hand, but she pulled away. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.<p>

"Please don't do this," Derek whispered. "Don't pull away from me."

"We made a promise to Hotch a long time ago that our personal lives would not interfere with the job," Emily whispered.

He was just glad she'd spoken at all, even if her tone was distant. "The job is over," Morgan countered. "We're headed home. And everyone on this jet knows that case must have been hard on you. It was hard on all of us. JJ and Hotch are both parents, too. They feel every loss just as deeply."

She finally turned to face him. "But they don't know, Derek. They've never lost a child the way we lost Sammy."

"Maybe not," he was glad she was talking, even using their daughter's name. "But they lost Sammy along with us. We all grieved for her."

Emily shifted so her head rested against his shoulder. "I'm not sure if I can keep doing this job," she whispered.

Morgan smoothed a hand over the back of her head. "I think you can, but it's okay if you don't want to any more. You should know by now that I'll stand by you no matter what you decide," he responded in a supportive manner. "If you want to keep chasing down these creeps, I'll be right with you. And if you want to stay home, I'm fine with that too."

"I don't know," her tune changed a little. "It kills me a little, each case, whether it's kids or adults," Emily sighed. "But then I can't help think that if we're not there to help stop these guys then it could be so much worse," she reasoned.

"That, my dear," he kissed her temple, "Is what is known as a double edged sword."

A small smile bloomed. "Indeed," Emily agreed.

Derek was glad to have her talking through it, but he knew what she needed more than anything. "We'll be home in about an hour, and then I can show you the real reason we keep doing all this. Until then, you should try to get some rest," he implored.

Her eyes slid shut. "Not sure what I'd do without you," she whispered.

His lips curled as his eyes closed, too. "The feeling is mutual," he replied. Derek listened as her breathing eventually evened out. He didn't sleep, but he was glad that Emily managed to rest for nearly the whole hour before they hit the tarmac. After a brief farewell to their friends and co-workers, Derek guided his wife to their waiting vehicle. He drove them back to the small house he'd fixed up years ago. Since Emily's first visit there it had gained new granite countertops and hardwood floors. It was home.

Morgan carried their bags inside and dropped them beside the door. He was momentarily morose over the fact that there were no clomp-clomp footsteps or soft jangle from Clooney's collar to greet them. But the old dog had lost his battle nearly six months ago. He and Emily walked hand-in-hand through the house's entry and noticed the stream of light coming from their living room. "Hey," a voice softly called to them.

Garcia and Kevin exited the living room to greet their friends. "Sorry we're so late," Emily apologized.

"No worries," Penelope insisted, giving them both a quick hug. "I've only been here a few hours since the case ended. But Kevin, the great babysitter that he is, had her fed and bathed by the time I arrived. Me thinks that little one has him wrapped about her tiny finger," the tech mused.

Kevin chuckled. "It goes both ways," he insisted.

"We're gonna head home now," Garcia said. "But I thought I should let you know she's in your bed. I figured you'd want her there tonight," the woman concluded.

They were already halfway up the stairs when they heard the front door close and the lock click. Emily entered her room and immediately kicked her shoes off. She didn't bother with anything else as she sunk down on the king-sized bed and settled beside her sleeping daughter. Derek took up the same position on the child's opposite side. The eighteen month old lay there on her back dressed in pink cotton PJs with cupcakes on them. Her left thumb was suckled by rosy lips.

Emily placed a hand gently atop the girl's chest, making sure it was rising and falling in perfect motion. The little girl's long, delicate eyelashes rested against her chubby cheeks. A mess of dark, curly hair resided atop her head. And her bronzed skin was the perfect blend of both her parents. "She's so beautiful," Morgan whispered. "Like her mama," he added. "But that thumb sucking thing is gonna mess up her teeth."

"I still think it's more natural than plastic pacifiers," Emily defended.

He didn't bother to argue, happy to be home with his girls. "Then you can pay Princess Belle's orthodontia bills when she's older," Derek said.

She grinned, but her thoughts turned as she continued to stare at the little girl sleeping so peacefully. Emily couldn't help think about those lost children on their most recent case. And she couldn't help thinking about her other baby girl. "Do you ever wonder if Anabelle feels her sister's loss?" she asked. "They spent all that time together in utero. And some say twins share a pretty powerful bond," she sighed. "I just hope she doesn't feel sad the way we do over losing Samantha."

Derek caressed the girl's feather soft cheek. "I imagine she has some inkling of loss, but she probably won't remember Sammy. When she's older we can tell her." He looked to Emily again, seeing a little less sorrow on her face. But even a year and half removed from the happy and tragic day their girls were born, she hadn't fully healed. "Tomorrow is Sunday, and I think the three of us should do something fun together," he suggested.

"What?" Emily asked, her eyes closing.

"It'll be a surprise," he insisted. Derek watched them both until Emily was fully asleep. Then he covered her and crawled back into bed, plotting their special day in his head.

True to his word, Derek had planned a simple Sunday afternoon for them, which led to him currently helping little Anabelle run from first to second base at the small ball field near their house. It was certainly not Wrigley Field, but watching his baby girl wobble on her short legs was thrilling in itself. "Come on, Belle," he encouraged, standing just a few feet in front of her while Emily hovered behind the girl.

"Derek, her legs are about four times shorter than yours," Emily noted. "You should hold her hand, she's going to fall."

"She'll be fine," he insisted. But about three seconds later the little girl toppled forward and landed on her hands and knees. Anabelle looked up at him for a moment like he was an idiot for not heading Emily's warning, and then she let go a huge wail. Derek scooped her up and held her against his chest, patting her back. "You're okay, baby," he soothed. Morgan could see the glare in Emily's eyes as she reached for the girl. "She's fine," he said, keeping hold of the girl.

"You let her fall," Emily growled.

Morgan walked the girl over to the blanket they had spread out. "I did not let her fall, Emily," he tried to keep his words civil as he examined his daughter for injury. "Not even a scratch," he reported, finally handing the child over to his overprotective wife. "I think we should get her ready for little league. I saw this cute baseball glove at the Sporting Goods store last week, it was pink leather with red stitching," Derek smiled, hoping to smooth over his wife's anger.

"Isn't little league for boys?" she asked, making her own check to assure the girl was fine. Anabelle was already squirming out of her arms, ready to take off again.

He shrugged. "I think they have co-ed leagues these days."

"But she's way too little. There are bats and balls and all sorts of things she could get hit with."

A deep breath was taken as he once again tried to deal with his cautious wife. "I agree that she's definitely a few years away from hitting her first home run, but we could start her off with some Nerf gear," Derek suggested.

"I don't know if this is a good idea, her and sports," Emily shook her head.

"Or anything that might give her as much as a scratch, like say… leaving the safety bubble of your arms," Derek guessed. "She's gonna fall and get bruised and hurt these next few toddler years. And even beyond that, Emily," he was tired of coddling both of them.

"I won't apologize," Emily stiffly replied. "Every time I think I'm over it, I realize I'm not."

Derek instantly felt bad for pushing the issue. "Emily, no one ever expects you to be over it. I'm not. I never will be, even though I know it was out of our control," he revealed. "But we cannot live in the past. And we've got Anabelle here with us. Alive. Walking. Talking. She is the most amazing little being. Every day I spend watching her grow and change, I'm blown away that we were blessed with this sweet, precious life. She's what we need to focus on now."

"She is pretty amazing," Emily agreed, watching as the girl sat and plucked tuffs of grass from the ball field. She then proceeded to stuff them in her mouth. Emily reached over to stop her, fearing the pesticides and fertilizer that the park might have used. Instead, Emily handed the girl a cookie. Then she laughed, wondering which was worse for the child.

"Cookie!" Anabelle exclaimed.

Morgan watched his two girls with amusement. "Do you remember what happened on this day three years ago?" he asked his wife.

"No," Emily replied, fishing through their bag for Belle's sippy cup.

His eyes widened a little. "Seriously, you don't?"

"Nope, sorry," she didn't even look at him as she tended to their daughter. "Was it something significant?"

He noticed the way her lips curled slightly. "You little liar," Derek dove for her, tackling her to the ground, though being careful not to bump into their daughter. Anabelle was busy gnawing on her cookie and giggling at them.

Emily grinned as she lay pinned beneath her husband. "Oh, wait, something is coming back to me now…" she paused for dramatic effect. "Three years ago you rescued me from chicken world domination. My hero," she sappily cooed the last two words.

"Is this what you plan to teach our daughter, the sass?" his head shook at her.

"Mama's little sass princess," Emily contemplated the idea. "I actually like that," she nodded.

He assaulted her with kisses. And, as their lips met in the familiar dance, Derek's thoughts retreated to the past once more. He recalled their first date and the high school play they'd gone to see. He broke off the kiss and looked down into her dark brown eyes. "When we went out on that first date together, you knew that night that you wanted a daughter named Anabelle someday didn't you?"

She smiled. "Well, it was always the plan. As you know, all women have these things mapped out from the time they're very little; the type of wedding dress they want, the names of the children they'll have," she finally managed to say children, plural, without growing saddened over their loss. Emily suddenly realized in that moment that triumph and pain walked hand-in-hand, just the way she and Derek did through life.

He nodded. "I know," Derek whispered as he moved in for another kiss. "And I'm glad you chose me to be a part of your plan."

"Me, too," Emily concluded.

* * *

><p><strong>The End <strong>**(for real this time)**


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